For the past month Art had spent his time in a place that was not home. His worries fell away whenever the small shape flitted across the floor, beckoning him. Art would follow the dark blur out of his window and into the forest, his chest pounding.
Every time the rat came he led Art to a white house, older than any other in the village. Waiting in the unkempt garden was a boy just like him, and he would teach Art songs and stories he once knew. He told him stories about the house and how he lived inside of it, never desiring to go past the border.
He told him how his mother coddled him for all his peculiarities. He told him how a man Art did not know had one day visited and brought him his only friend- the rat from Europe.
As the autumn trees saw less and less leaves on their branches, the boy just like Art told him a final story. He told Art that rats can handle the pain of loss with great strength, that they must move on with their lives. However, a lonely rat that mourns is in danger, for the lonely rat will soon follow the deceased.
Rats and Hats 